


Multiples Of Two

by yuuki



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Atsumu-centric, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Getting Together, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, OCD Miya Atsumu, Pining Miya Atsumu, mentions of marijuana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22984774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuuki/pseuds/yuuki
Summary: He does everything in multiples of two.The day Sakusa Kiyoomi died, Atsumu checked his pulse twenty-eight times.Okay, so Sakusa Kiyoomi has never died. And Atsumu has never been close enough to Sakusa to be able to check his pulse. So what if Atsumu is just being dramatic again? He’s allowed to be dramatic when he’s in love with a man who has less emotion than a rock.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 27
Kudos: 785





	Multiples Of Two

He does everything in multiples of 2. 

Whenever he has to wash his hands, he does it four times. 

When he gets ready in the morning, he brushes his teeth and fixes his hair six times. 

Before he goes to bed he makes sure to check the lock eight times. 

When he does a jump float serve he takes four steps back, and when he does a spike serve he takes six. 

And, every time before a game, he massages the palms of his hands and the tips of his fingers twelve times and he takes ten deep breaths. 

The day Sakusa Kiyoomi died, Atsumu checked his pulse twenty-eight times. 

Okay, so Sakusa Kiyoomi has never died. And Atsumu has never been close enough to Sakusa to be able to check his pulse. So what if Atsumu is just being dramatic again? He thinks it’s allowed. It’s his God given right to be dramatic. 

But Atsumu _did_ check his own pulse twenty-eight times after Sakusa Kiyoomi joined the Black Jackals, only because his heart was racing so fast and it felt like there were birds fluttering in his chest, and one time he got high with Suna and almost had a panic attack, so Suna grabbed Atsumu’s wrist and took his pulse to calm him down and Atsumu thought that maybe that would work here. 

And Atsumu thinks about how every English teacher he’s ever had would say the way his thoughts are formed is grammatically incorrect. 

“Atsumu-san?” he hears, and it’s only then that Atsumu realizes he’s been scowling at the net for the past five minutes instead of setting to his hitters like he’s supposed to. “What are you doing?” 

“Fantasizing about Sakusa’s death,” Atsumu says. 

“That’s fucked up!” says Shion from the other side of the net, who is practicing receiving spikes with a nasty spin from Sakusa, who is the closest to a southpaw they have. 

“Not like that!” Atsumu is quick to defend, and he throws a hasty glance at Sakusa. He just looks annoyed with the whole situation. 

“There’s only one way to really fantasize about someone’s death, Atsumu-san,” says Sakusa. His tone makes Atsumu think of a robot. Like that one song by the British band _The 1975_ , the one where a man marries a robot. That’ll be Atsumu. The man who marries the robot, that is. 

If Atsumu ever stops being a coward and gets Sakusa to marry him. 

“I was thinkin’ about how awful it would be if ya died, ya jerk!” he says. 

“But not the rest of us?” says Bokuto, tilting his head with an innocent smile. But the way his eyes narrow ever so slightly shows that Bokuto knows exactly what he’s doing, and Atsumu glares at him as he grinds his teeth. Bokuto isn’t as dumb as he makes himself seem, but no one ever believes Atsumu when he says that Bokuto is actually a conniving little bitch. 

“What did he say?” says Oliver to Adriah, who shrugs. Meian gives them a blank look before he translates, and Oliver’s mouth pops into an _O_ shape as he slaps his fist into his palm. “Atsumu doesn't care if we die?”

“I didn’t say that!” says Atsumu. 

“He just cares more if Sakusa dies than the rest of us,” says Adriah, looking amused with the whole ordeal. 

“I care if none of you die except Sho-chan,” groans Atsumu, and Shoyo gives Atsumu a thumbs up and a flashy grin. 

“Can we just continue with practice?” says Sakusa, and his face gives away nothing about what he thinks of the conversation. Atsumu stares at him for a couple seconds before he bites his lip and turns away. 

He takes ten deep breaths and presses his thumbs against his wrists four times. 

—

When Atsumu was younger, before he and Osamu dyed their hair, a girl confessed to him. 

It was the first time anyone ever confessed to him. Atsumu wasn’t really popular in school because of his brash and loud personality, while Osamu was the brooding and quiet prince of every girls’ dreams. 

It never bothered Atsumu. He had friends who liked him in spite of his flaws and who didn’t care that he couldn’t be the first one to enter a room. 

Maybe it was because of that that Atsumu enjoyed the confession so much. 

It was a girl he had liked for a few months at that point, a cute girl with curly black hair. The only one he had told about his crush was Osamu. 

“Miya-san!” the girl said as Atsumu was walking to the volleyball clubroom to change for practice. “Do you have a minute?” 

Atsumu turned around, eyes widening ever so slightly. “Yamada-chan!” he greeted. He looked at the clubroom then back at her, giving her a smile that he hoped didn’t betray his racing heart. “What's up?” 

“I just wanted to give you this,” she said, casting a sheepish look at the ground. There was a high blush on her cheeks as she rummaged around in her bag, bringing out a heart shaped box with a pink envelope. 

Atsumu couldn’t contain the grin that split his face in half, and he clenched and unclenched his fists eight times before he took it. There were these birds in his stomach that stirred up his insides, and he wanted to drown them. “Oh!” he said, and Yamada kept her gaze trained on their feet. 

Then Atsumu looked at the envelope, seeing Yamada’s pretty and flowery handwriting spell out the name _Osamu._

Atsumu’s elation turned to bitter vines wrapping around his throat and choking him within seconds. If he had to describe it in terms of color, it was like if bright yellows and oranges suddenly turned to murky and dark greens and blacks. 

For a second he considered pretending to be his brother so he could reject Yamada, but even he wasn’t that mean. 

“Oh,” he said again, and he swallowed the thorny lump in his throat. “Y’know I’m Atsumu, right, Yamada-chan?”

Yamada’s eyes went wide as the color drained from her face. Her eyes snapped to Atsumu and her face went red again, this time with shame instead of nerves. 

“I….” she started, and Atsumu smiled at her and handed back the confession items. She silently took them. “I’m sorry. I thought I could tell you guys apart, but….”

“Don’t worry about it,” Atsumu reassured her, but inwardly he was screaming. He hated this. He hated this. He hated this. “You know, Osamu will be coming out of practice in about two hours, if you wanted to wait.”

“Thank you, Miya-san,” Yamada said, tucking hair behind her ear. “I think I’ll just do it tomorrow. I’ll see you later.” 

“Yeah,” said Atsumu, watching her go with the taste of something like copper and gasoline in his mouth. 

That day at practice he did 122 perfect spike serves.

When they went home that weekend, one twin still single and one with a girlfriend, they dyed their hair.

—

“You’re late,” says Sakusa. 

Atsumu chuckles nervously and bounces on the balls of his feet. It’s a work function, one where they meet with their sponsors in fancy suits at a fancy venue to talk about the future of the team. 

The team veterans, Meian, Oliver, and Adriah, all seem mildly bored with it. Atsumu has been to these five times already since joining, so the charm has worn off of him. 

Bokuto and Shoyo, however, appear to be having the time of their lives. 

“I got held up,” says Atsumu. It’s sort of true; he had to button up his shirt and undo it then button it up again fourteen times because the first thirteen hadn’t felt right. 

“Hmm,” says Sakusa, taking a sip from a champagne flute. His curly hair is swept back and he’s dressed in a starkly pressed black suit, looking as impeccable as ever. 

“You look nice,” Atsumu says after he counts to ten and grabs a champagne flute for himself off a passing server. He’s wearing a dark red suit with gold flowers on the lapel. It’s perfectly tailored to fit him, because he deserves nothing but the best. 

Sakusa looks at Atsumu, eyes narrowing in a considering way. His Adam’s apple bobs and he takes another sip of champagne. “You too,” he finally says, as if he was debating whether or not Atsumu actually looked nice. 

“Ah, do you-“ Atsumu sighs and puts his champagne down before he tries again. “Do you want to get out of here?” 

He’s only asking because he knows Sakusa hates crowds. That’s the only reason why. He absolutely does not want to be alone with Sakusa. 

“You just got here,” says Sakusa, an eyebrow flicking up at Atsumu. 

“I know,” Atsumu says. “I've just been to so many of these things that they’re old news. If I go say hi and bye and introduce myself to a few new people, we’ll be good to go.” 

Sakusa looks away from Atsumu and into the crowd of people wearing expensive clothes. “Fine,” he says, and Atsumu notes that it takes him four minutes to answer. 

Atsumu doesn't pat his shoulder in a friendly way. Instead, he gives Sakusa a thumbs up and a nod. “Give me thirty minutes at most before we can dip.” 

_“Dip?”_ Sakusa repeats. “What kind of slang is that?” 

“Keep up with the youth, Omi-kun!” Atsumu says, holding his arms out as he walks backwards into the crowd. 

He hopes he looks cool. 

—

“Did I look cool?” 

Sakusa snorts and his whole body shakes, and it’s such a wonderful sound that Atsumu props himself up on his elbows so he can give Sakusa a crooked grin. 

“Kind of, if I’m being honest,” Sakusa says, voice breathy. It makes those birds go into flight in Atsumu’s stomach. “Don’t let it get to your head, though. That’s the only time you’ve ever looked cool in your life.” 

“Rude, Omi-kun!” Atsumu says, voice shrill. He lets himself fall back on the floor. 

After they left the function, they went to a liquor store and bought really fancy sake (Sakusa doesn’t drink cheap liquor. He only drinks things he can sip and that make him look like a rich businessman, like red wine). They then argued about whose house they’d go to, and ultimately decided to go to Atsumu’s because it was closer. 

It was a bit of a hassle to get Sakusa there, though. 

(“I promise it’s clean, Omi-kun!” Atsumu had said. “I cleaned sixteen times!”). 

“Okay, my turn,” Sakusa says before he hiccups. They’re drunk in Atsumu’s living room and playing twenty questions, and it’s not something Atsumu ever imagined he’d do. If he told himself from a year ago that he’d be hanging out one-on-one with his crush, he’d have laughed. Fuck, if he told himself from last week that this would happen, he’d have laughed. “How many confessions have you received?” 

“Three,” says Atsumu, too quick, and it’s only then that he realizes how pathetic that seems. He’s twenty-three and he’s only received three confessions in his entire life. Well, technically two, because one wasn’t meant for him. “Actually, two. One was meant for my brother.” 

Sakusa giggles- _actually giggles-_ and squirms on the couch, which he sprayed with Lysol before he laid on it. He took off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves earlier, and the pomade has lost its hold on his hair and now curls fall around to frame his face. “That doesn’t surprise me,” he says. “You’re awful.” 

“Hey!” Atsumu says, and he sits up again with the intent to smack Sakusa. His hand stops just short before he can make contact. “Whatever. How many have you gotten?” 

Sakusa makes it a point to count on his hands for show, and Atsumu stares at his long and bony fingers before he swallows thickly. Sakusa’s hands have always been a point of interest to Atsumu. They way his wrists bend like that, the way his fingers are all long and knobby. The way his knuckles are always red, standing out against pale white skin. 

Atsumu’s eyes drift to Sakusa’s perfect and muscly thighs, to his thick biceps that strain at the fabric of his shirt, to his cupid’s bow lips that are too red and scabby from being bitten too much, to the beauty marks above his eyebrow. 

Sakusa demands attention, and by God, Atsumu is going to give it to him. 

“Twenty-one,” Sakusa says with a smirk, and Atsumu snaps his eyes away from Sakusa’s abdomen to his face. Atsumu frowns and is about to ask what Sakusa means until he remembers their conversation. 

“That's a lot!” Atsumu says. “You would think that I’d have gotten more.” 

“And why’s that?” 

“Because I’m perfect in all ways, Omi-kun. Anyone would be lucky to have me.” 

Sakusa laughs into the palm of his hand, and Atsumu stares at him in wonder. He briefly considers getting Sakusa drunk every night if he gets to see him like this, but he doesn’t want to turn his star hitter into an alcoholic. “Sure, if you say so. It’s your turn, by the way.” 

“Is not! I just asked you a question!”

“That doesn’t count. It was the same question I asked you.” 

“Fine,” Atsumu sighs, and he rolls over onto his back to stare at his ceiling. When he was younger and still lived with his parents he used to have glow in the dark stars on his ceiling in his bedroom, and he kind of misses them. 

Atsumu rubs his hands together and takes a deep breath. “Did you… did you mean it when you said you think I’m awful?” he asks, and he only realizes how personal the question is after he asks. The lighthearted air between him and Sakusa goes tense, and Atsumu feels like there’s an electrical charge between them. “Sorry, I-“ 

“No,” Sakusa finally says. “I don’t actually think you’re awful.” 

Atsumu feels like he’s able to breathe again, so the first thing he does is let out a shuddering breath. It feels good to hear that, especially after so long of being hated by his teammates and the people he went to school with. He couldn’t help the way he was so he just ignored it, but he never realized how much he needed to hear those words. _I don’t think you’re awful._

“Wha- wait, are you _crying?”_ Sakusa asks, and Atsumu can hear the disdain in his voice. It makes Atsumu laugh, though it sounds gross and wet. 

_“No,”_ Atsumu says. “I've just- I've never heard that before.” 

“I can’t fathom why,” says Sakusa, and it’s so dry and montone that it makes Atsumu feel better. 

—

Atsumu learns a lot of things about Kiyoomi that next morning. 

He learns that Kiyoomi is very irritable in the mornings, and he learns that Kiyoomi sucks at dealing with hangovers. 

“Coffee, Omi-kun?” Atsumu offers. They fell asleep in Atsumu’s living room last night, but at least not before Atsumu could convince Kiyoomi to change out of his expensive suit. 

That might’ve been a bad idea, though, because now Sakusa Kiyoomi is sitting at Atsumu’s table in a plain white t-shirt that is too thin and boxers that leave little to the imagination. 

Sakusa makes a noise that sounds like a growl, and Atsumu pours him a mug. He leaves it black because he thinks it helps with hangovers, though he’s not actually sure if that’s true. 

“Thanks for letting me stay here,” Sakusa says after a while of silence. 

“Well, I wasn’t goin’ to let you drive home,” Atsumu replies, staring sheepishly into his own coffee. “It’s not a big deal. I had fun.” 

Sakusa blows into his coffee, bony white fingers with red knuckles wrapping around around the mug. “Me too,” he says, and it sounds like a confession. 

Atsumu wishes it was. 

He knows that Sakusa is the most overly cautious person in history, and that he’d never do anything unless he was certain of the outcome. He thinks carefully about all his responses in normal conversations, so Atsumu can’t expect him to be lenient when it comes to something like romantic feelings. 

He knows that, but that doesn’t mean he’s not nervous. 

Atsumu takes ten deep breaths and knocks on the table eight times. They are birds and butterflies and moths and bees in his stomach, and his blood feels too hot in his veins. He opens his mouth then closes it, and does this three more times. 

He closes his eyes and presses his thumbs to his wrists before he sighs. “Hey, Omi-kun?”

“Hmm?”

“You know how you said you got twenty-one confessions last night?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“Want to make it twenty-two?”

Sakusa is painfully quiet, and all Atsumu can hear is the ticking of the clock and his own heartbeat. His hands are sweating so much it feels like a slip’n’slide, and his throat is too dry. Minutes pass and still Sakusa says nothing. 

Then he sighs. “Atsumu-san.” 

Atsumu feels despair claw at his throat. “You don’t have to say anything,” he chokes out. “I just wanted you to know that I like you. That way you’re fully aware of everything going on in this relationship.” 

Sakusa sighs again, very pointedly not looking anywhere near Atsumu. “Atsumu,” he says again, this time dropping the honorific and with a toneless voice. 

“Will you quit that?” Atsumu demands. “I get it. You don’t like me.” 

“No, I-“ Sakusa bites his lip, making it bleed. His eyebrows are scrunched up and he looks pensive. “Me too.” 

Atsumu’s not sure he heard that right. “Pardon?”

“Me… too,” Sakusa repeats. “I… you know.”

Atsumu feels like lips curl into a grin. “No,” he says, “I don’t know. Could you elaborate?”

“You’re awful,” says Sakusa, and nothing feels as good as the fact that Atsumu knows he doesn’t mean it. 

“Just say it,” Atsumu begs. “Please. For me.”

Sakusa looks skyward, looking as if he’s about to change his mind and just walk out. _“Fine._ Atsumu, I like you.”

Atsumu grins shamelessly into his coffee, not caring that he probably looks ridiculous right now, with his stupidly red face and his ugly bedhead. He doesn’t care, because Sakusa Kiyoomi just told him he liked him, and Atsumu doesn’t think anyone could ever say something that makes him feel as happy as this does. 

“Twenty-two and four,” he says. “It’s perfect.”

“Pardon?” Sakusa says, mimicking Atsumu from earlier. 

“You’ve got twenty-two confessions and I’ve got four. They’re multiples of two. It’s perfect.” 

“Is that the only reason why you confessed to me?” Sakusa asks, scrunching up his nose. 

“No. I confessed because for some reason, I really, really like you.”

“Quit saying such embarrassing things,” Sakusa mutters into his coffee. 

Atsumu just grins and grins. “Hey, Omi-kun?”

“Hmm?” 

“Does this mean you’ll be my boyfriend?” 

Sakusa is silent for a long time, but Atsumu doesn’t feel anxiety gnaw at his insides like he normally would. Instead he feels a turbulent kind of calm, a calm so still and silent that it feels powerful and twisting. 

“What else is there for me to do?” Sakusa finally says, and Atsumu takes it as what Sakusa really means: _yes. Yes, I’ll be your boyfriend, but that’s too embarrassing for me to admit._

“One day, Omi-kun, I’m going to get you to be honest with me.” 

Sakusa gives the barest hint of a smile and he wiggles his toes, making the bones pop. “Okay,” he says. “I look forward to it, then.” 

And Atsumu gets up and washes his mug before he washes his hands four times, and he takes ten deep breaths and presses his thumbs to his wrists eight times, and he sits down at the table and counts to twelve before he slowly reaches across. 

It takes six minutes for Sakusa Kiyoomi to reach back. 

**Author's Note:**

> woke up from a nap to write this. anyway thank u for reading hope u liked it :,)


End file.
